


Gone to Sea

by Foxberry



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Asexual Character, Drowning, F/M, Multi, Pirates, Rescue, Royalty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:32:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxberry/pseuds/Foxberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikasa finds herself tossed overboard during a tumultuous storm. She struggles to make her way to the surface and nearly drowns but as luck would have it, a hand reaches out for her just in time. </p><p>  <i>Based on the <a href="http://shynii.tumblr.com/post/94054058289/swim-swim-swim">original image</a> that <a href="http://shynii.tumblr.com/">shynii</a> drew and the version that I <a href="http://foxberryblue.tumblr.com/post/105913617637/wrappedingrey-foxberryblue-i-loved-this-so">coloured</a>.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 2014 Jeankasa Secret Santa gift for [acertainjeankirschtein](http://acertainjeankirschtein.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you to [Laurel](http://la-la-la-laurel.tumblr.com/) for editing for me.

Rain pounded down. Wet wooden boards creaked as the ship took a hard turn starboard. It cut through the water effortlessly; waves carved into the dark sea water hit against the ship with grey clouds looming overhead. The sky seemed to sink down towards the sea and encroach upon the crew, filling the horizon.

The crew scurried from sail to sail, securing the rig with blistered hands and aching lungs. Cries rose up from the deck as Prince Mikasa surveyed the great Sirenia. Her short, raven hair was slicked against her cheeks with rain, and her eyes, as grey as steel, pierced through the gloom.

She crossed the deck with heavy steps. Her rich red and orange striped wool coat was heavily soaked and completely unsuitable for such conditions. It sprayed water when she turned on her heel, swiveling on the spot. The weight barely made a difference to her when she walked. Leather boots guarded her shins from the bone-chilling wind whipping about her heels. Her white slacks stuck tightly to her thighs, making every step more restrictive than the next on her way to the captain.

“How are we faring, Captain Smith?” she yelled through the blur of the increasing downpour. Her eyelashes were heavy with droplets, and her face began to grow numb with the wind pushing its way between her and the captain. The ship groaned as he grabbed and turned the ship’s wheel suddenly, and it lurched to the port side. He gave a stern yell to his crew below, taking his time to answer as Mikasa gained her footing.

“She’s awfully vocal, but she’s hardy.” He stared forward determinedly, soaked white shirt buttoned up to his neck, a perfect example of his majesty’s navy. “She will see this through, your highness.”  
Mikasa nodded, still concerned but pleased by such words. “I am glad to hear this.” Leaving him swiftly and starting down to the main deck, she added, in a low breath, “Though I feel I am not put to good use.”  
  
On the deck the crew ran every which way. Soaked from their scalps to their toes, they all appeared like shrivelled, drowned rats, struggling to survive. They held onto ropes and rigging with extraordinary vigour and strength while Mikasa questioned whatever sea legs she thought she had. Their resilience was undeterred by the groaning of the sea. It lashed against the Sirenia like it was eager to take them in one go. She admired their perseverance despite the chaos.

Insistent on helping, Mikasa made her way to one poor lad struggling with a line by the portside.  
“Let me assist,” she said bluntly, more of a command than an offer.  
The boy’s blue eyes looked up at her, eyebrows shooting up in shock, before he stammered, “Y-yes, your majesty.”

“It’s ‘your highness,’” she corrected him, grabbing the rope he held with small hands, taking the slack and pulling it taut. Her voice softened when she faced him and continued, “I am only a prince.” The boy stood stunned, hands grasping at the air for his next orders now that he had nothing to do. Turning back to the rope, she huffed, fighting against the sail defying her will. Wind chopped around her ears. Mikasa dug her heels down, the deck slippery, offering little help in her struggle.

They entered the darkened cave of clouds. It became harder to see. Grey became black as they passed further into the storm and it surrounded them. Deep clamours of thunder seemed to shake the sky. The water thrashed in protest, licking up at them on all sides. Every wave tipped the ship precariously. Flashes of lightning threw light across the water as bright as sunlight. For a moment, it looked just like day, but it was only a flicker of illusion.

A strong gust of wind screamed through under the cover of a loud thunderclap. The sail that Mikasa held steady flung forward suddenly, ripping the rope from her grasp. It stripped her hands bare as it pulled away, and with a loud yell she let it go, hands hot and red from the friction. The Sirenia swayed perilously, and several of the crew lost control of the sails. A large wave rose before them and hit heavily against the side. Her hands aching and her legs already unsteady, Mikasa stumbled against the railing, hands slipping in an attempt to grasp at wet oak. The sky above her was so much more splendid, and terrifyingly vast, as she fell backwards into the sea.

Water rushed around her and the yells of the crew became muffled. The screaming in her throat became all she could hear, eyes opening fearfully wide underwater. It was darker here, several feet down, and she struggled briefly in her disorientation to turn the right way, but merely somersaulted in place. She couldn’t tell which way was up. Her arms and legs climbed at the water as if it was an invisible ladder, but it got her nowhere. The will to move left her like the bubbles rising from her clothes, and her arms hung limp around her. Her lungs -- aching and already depleted of air from the fall -- screamed at her. The urge to open her mouth and release the pressure building in her chest halted her will to swim entirely.

The sea seemed to fade to black. Her eyelids closed, feeling as heavy as the jacket weighing her down. Water rocked her gently as the world’s light faded into her fatigue. All she could do was feel the water pressed in against her ears, the current that pulled at her clothes, and the touch of a hand that reached out for her. An arm slipped under hers, lifting her through the current, and encircled her waist to pull her close. It felt warm in the cold abyss, and in her sleepy daze, the embrace reminded her of home.

The water rushed past her accompanied by the regular sound of a swish below her. Her eyes peeked just barely from under their lids. A faint glow greeted her gaze. Soft teal glowed in horizontal slits across a neck before her. This person -- possibly no more than a hallucination -- held her close to their chest, and seemed to be taking her towards the surface. Their pointed and gnarled teeth gritted together in concentration.

She felt the urge to breathe in rise again, and in a gasp of bubbles, she felt her lungs and throat begin to ache while salt water rushed in. Her resolve had collapsed. Everything became a blur, and the world went dark.

The breeze against her skin brought her back. The light of the sunset caressed her and water lapped up against her feet. She coughed, lungs aching at her still, but the air she breathed in seemed soothing. Her eyes opened slowly at first. She held suspicions of hallucinations in the storm, of seeing strange beings pulling her to safety. ‘How peculiar a dream’, she thought, then promptly froze, as she saw the blurry form before her.

He sat calmly by her side, and rather than legs like her own, a long, silvery green tail, glimmering in the light, protruded from his waist. His hair was a strange shock of blond, wet and ruffled, and a dark brown underneath. His eyes, peculiar and fierce in their red-orange tint, peered over her. They seemed concerned and curious, but warm, as if he could really see her through the prince’s garb.

With his tail sitting in the rising tide and a hand placed gently over hers, he tilted his head quizzically to the side. Mikasa’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and she looked herself over. She was wearing the same outfit. Perhaps this was just a dream. She had knocked her head a little hard.

His hand then brushed her cheek, gentle and testing. A gasp escaped her lips as he brushed past them and tucked strands of hair upon her face behind one ear. He paused, assessing her reaction, before repeating the gesture on the other side. Stunned, Mikasa sat motionless, staring at the bare chest before her. The discomfort melted away to mild confusion. It dawned on her that this being had saved her, and, as if to reassure her, he cupped her cheek.

"Thank you," she said with a rare sort of gratitude. She often felt it for acts of assistance or kindness, but her subjects rarely seemed genuine in the face of her title and position. He would receive no benefit for his actions, for her kingdom did not extend into the sea, nor was he sworn to protect her.

More curious than usual and a little perplexed by this feeling in her chest, she asked, "What is your name, stranger?"

He considered her for a moment and, rather than speaking as she expected, he withdrew his hand from her face and scrawled his name in the sand with an elongated finger. When he turned his arm, she could make out a green shimmer of scales about his elbow, reminding her once again that he wasn't human. The letters joined together intricately to form the name ‘Jean’.

“Jean,” she sounded out the name, and he nodded with a smile, shark-like teeth showing in his grin. He held her gaze and nodded encouragingly at her. “Oh, I’m…” she spoke again and thought for a moment about the opportunity presented to her. She needn’t be a prince. Not here. Not to him. “Mikasa. My name is Mikasa.”

He mouthed out her name as she had done his but he made no sound. He merely smiled again. There was no judgement in those eyes. Mikasa let out a small laugh in her relief.

He leaned forward and bowed in a peculiar manner. Her back straightened in surprise. His hands then took hers, bringing them to his lips, and he placed a tender kiss upon the back of her hand. Her face felt suddenly warmer than before. She stared, wondering if it was merely his custom or a gesture for her benefit. Yet his eyes did not meet hers again for her to tell, and he shuffled away across the sand by the sheer strength in his arms.

Mikasa, for perhaps the first time, sat powerless, watching him make his way into the water. He turned to glance at her once more with a smile, and she returned it without hesitation. Sighing, Mikasa closed her eyes and took in a long, deep breath to savour the air, not wanting to see him leave.

When she opened her eyes, she could just make out the green of his tail as he swam away into deeper waters. He was a strange creature indeed to have saved her, to have stayed with her, and to have made her feel more like herself, more like Mikasa, than a prince in those brief moments. She would make all efforts to remember his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this and want to share it on Tumblr, you can find the Tumblr post [here]().
> 
> I would love to hear your feedback here or you can also find me on [Tumblr](http://foxberryblue.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue).


	2. Chapter 2

The heavy bar door swung open with a loud creak. Smoke-laden air hit Mikasa as she entered. Roars of laughter and loud choruses of intense discussions over tankards of ale filled the small, dark tavern. She was told she could find him here. They had called him Marco, and his reputation preceded him. A former cabin boy in her family’s royal navy, he had grown into a scrupulous privateer, hiring his ship, the Bastarda, to anyone who would pay the price. Word said that was not the only way he made his money, but Mikasa had no fear of a rumoured pirate that named his ships with a sense of humour. 

She strolled into the tavern without a hint of hesitation. Her long navy coat brushed past her knees; her boots stomped across the wooden floor with determination. She was advised not to wander in his part of the docks, but she needed this man to find what she was looking for. Her naval officers had refused her orders, crying out excuses of danger or frivolous pursuit. Mikasa would not hear of it. She needed a ship and a man who could be bought.

He was unmistakable when she saw him. Leaning casually back against the corner wall, one leg propped over the other, he appeared the vision of confidence. Even from the far end of the tavern, she could tell he was a tall man. His hair was dark and frizzy with just a hint of a curl as if he had just removed his hat. His dark, short beard and a trimmed moustache distracted from the hint of a permanent smile on his lips, but it could not hide the kind yet wary left eye peering up through the tavern, nor the other hidden by a leather eyepatch. He looked far more groomed than she expected, his beard trimmed and his hair far shorter than tales had told, with only wisps of curls laid across his forehead. His coat was worn, sewn and patched together with different shades of leather, but nonetheless, beneath it all was the faded dark blue of a former naval officer’s uniform. 

His thin lips curled into a smile when she approached. He rose abruptly, making a show of bowing for her, one arm across his chest, the other behind, but never letting his eye leave hers. Mikasa huffed at this show and held her chin high. No expression crossed her face, steely eyes fixed on him.

“Well, well,” the man called Marco mused, sitting down and taking his comfortable position against the wall again. “To what do I owe the pleasure of such a regal visit?” He gestured to the seat opposite him, inviting her to join him. The flick of his wrist indicated she could not refuse.

She relented and dusted off her jacket in a show of mild defiance before taking seat. “You would do well to keep that quiet,” Mikasa advised, resting her wrist on the edge of the scuffed oak table between them. Her fingers intertwined slowly, deftly, without ever glancing away from his gaze.

Scratching at his beard, he chuckled down at his chest. He positioned himself back against the wall, intentionally matching her height, and made a long, passing glance around the room behind her. “Half of this tavern knows who you are by the way you walk, princess.” He smirked when his eye met hers again.

“Prince,” she corrected him. Her voice lost its sense of calm and cut through the air bluntly. Her teeth grinded together.

“Oh…” Marco leant forward onto the table. A curious glint was in his eye. “So, it is true. The young prince has graced me with her royal presence.”

Her eyebrows betrayed her otherwise straight expression. “Young? We are of an age.” Mikasa’s voice was stern with a hint of a chill. His complete comfort before her, even the brazen way he tested her patience, conflicted within her. On one hand, it riled her up that he dared to speak to her with such disregard. On the other, she had to hand him some respect for the gall of it.

“I suppose we are.” Marco shrugged dismissively. “What I don’t understand is why you came here to see me.”

Mikasa leaned forward and lowered her voice. Her eyes glanced about them, her head turning around to see behind her. “I am in need of assistance to find someone.”

“You need to find someone?” He scoffed and signalled for the tavernkeep to bring him more ale. “Don’t you have royal dogs to sniff out your desires?” His chuckle resounded lowly, barely loud enough to hear beyond their table.

Mikasa sighed. “I do not have the desires you are implying.” She took a deep breath and tried to relax the way her muscles tightened in preparation for his rebuttal. One always seemed to come.

“Implying?” He leaned forward to rest an elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. “Oh, it’s merely a reasonable assumption. When you come to a sea dog instead of your usual pack, something must be…” He glanced down her coat with a smile on his face. “Of a different nature.” He smirked with a glint in his eye and lounged back when the tavernkeep placed a heavy stein before him. Picking it up with a flourish, he peered up at her again. “Desire is an exceptional motivator. What is it that you desire, your highness?”

The chill in Mikasa’s voice cut through the air. She was having none of it. “The only desire I have at this moment is for you to cease this game you persist in playing.” Her hands clasped each other tightly on the edge of the table, her fingertips pressing into her skin. Her face hinted at her frustration with a slight twitch in her eyebrows.

Marco took a long sip, keeping his eye on her until he swallowed his mouthful and clicked his tongue. “Game?”

“I had heard your services were discreet and uncomplicated.” Her fingers began to wring each other. Her eyes fell briefly onto a drop of condensation rolling down his stein. “Am I to believe that they were wrong?”

He tilted his head and squinted in concentration, huffing to dismiss her words. Silence passed between them for an uncomfortably long moment. “Why are you chasing someone when they say you have no interest in even attempting to create an heir for the kingdom?” Marco peered around the room, lifting his stein as acknowledgement to the tavern keep on the far side to hide the purpose of his glance. Placing it back down, he leaned over to speak softly, “Rumour has it that you do not want a husband.”

“Rumours said you had long hair.” Mikasa threw back at him. Others in the tavern seemed to have become more aware of her now, but she ignored them. She gestured at his arm. “Rumours spoke of how you lost your right arm to some carnivorous beast, but behold how both your arms are whole.”

He turned over his arm with a curious gaze, which returned to her after an amused huff. “Are you denying that the rumours about yourself are true?” 

A man a table over to the left focused on her and brushed his eyebrows with the tips of his fingers. Perhaps he had heard something rise up from the table. His attempt to look benign did not work, but Mikasa dismissed him all the same and clicked her tongue. “I am pointing out how much truth rumours hold.”

“And yet rumours lead you here.” He raised an eyebrow at her resounding silence. There was nothing more she could say to that. Marco smirked at this small victory in their war of words. “So,” he began, playing with the edge of his coat between his fingers. “My dear prince, what makes this other prince of interest to you?”

Mikasa raised her hand in the air. Her eyes darted towards the tavern keep and her hand signalled for them to approach. If she was to endure this man, she would numb the bite of his tongue. Satisfied she had caught the keep’s attentions, she settled back into her chair. “You assume he is a prince without knowing any details.”

“You call him 'he' and yet he is not a prince.” Marco looked to the ground in thought. His hum takes on a tune she can’t quite name.

Mikasa’s eyes roll at his words and she shook her head. “I am a prince, but I do not call myself 'he.'”

Marco’s good eye narrowed on her. His eyes roamed over her, fascinated and somewhat entertained. “That is true.” His eyepatch shifted a little as he smirked and finished the last dregs of his stein. He had drunk faster than Mikasa had expected him to. Perhaps she had underestimated him. The ale did not appear to have affected him as of yet.

Mikasa smiled as the tavern keep approached. Never permitting Marco to speak a word, she ordered an ale for herself and another for him. She carefully spoke her order to the keep and a sliver of satisfaction ran down her spine. The look of surprise on his face would be one she would remember. She continued calmly, “Besides, it is of no matter at present.”

“How so?” Marco asked blankly. He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his shoulders. Despite his feigned disinterest, he couldn't hide the curiosity in his tone.

“Things are as they are and they will not change until he is found.” Mikasa shrugged and settled into her seat. She felt somewhat more comfortable now in his domain. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her tone became thoughtful at her own words. “I’m not even sure he’s a 'he.'”

“Says the prince who calls herself she.” Marco nodded and leaned forward in a concessional bow. The man had somewhat of a theatrical leaning. He spoke words of enamoured praise as the tavern keep returned with new steins of ale. His perseverance in keeping on his facade was admirable. Somewhere beneath those waves of his arms and that crooked smile, he was weaker than he let on. Mikasa just wasn’t sure of how.

“Humour me.” He caught her off guard when he spoke again, but she did not move to give him any satisfaction. Marco sat just as still as her this time. His words were tinted with a hint of laughter. “What is it you want with this man if you do not desire him?”

“He’s not a man.” A slight tremor shook through her flat tone, raising Marco’s interest. His eye locked on hers. She felt vulnerable admitting the fact. She could hardly tell him the truth.

He began to scratch at the curls in his beard. His fingers worked their way up his jawline. “That’s all well and good, your highness.” The band of his eyepatch snapped when he pulled at it. Mikasa’s eyes were drawn to the scars leading down his cheek. His voice broke through the silence before she could ask. “But where do you suppose this… personage... is?”

Mikasa shook her head and fixated on her shoes. She had no answer for him. What should she tell him? The wooden floor and its collection of food crumbs and dust provided no assistance. “I do not know. But I suspect the sea would provide us answers. It is why have sought you.”

Marco’s face changed. A small pout formed on his lips. It was one of interest and pondering. A curious glint grew in his eye. “I see.” He glanced at her, taking one long look before closing his eye with raised eyebrows and a breath in. Opening them again, he continued, “You want me to find a man who is not a man. In a place you do not know. In a direction you have not found. Have I summed up this desire of yours correctly?”

“I suppose you have.” Mikasa pulled her coat tighter around her and secured all her buttons. It felt warm and comforting beneath her fingers, but nevertheless constricting, like the other parts of her life. She could not bear to look at him to hear his rejection. “Would these circumstances prevent you from providing assistance to me?”

Marco hummed a tune to himself. His voice was warm and soft when he sang the notes. "Would these circumstances..." He drew her attention and -- sure that he held it -- ran his hands over his worn coat, his bushy beard, and, finally, the collar of his shirt, tugging at it absently. "Prevent you from trusting me?"

Mikasa scoffed and narrowed her eyes. "Why would I need trust when you would be a paid man?" She crossed her arms and awaited his answer, impatient, head tilted back and chin held up high.

"A paid dog, you mean." His teeth peeked through his lips when he smiled. His laughter now seemed to put her oddly at ease. Its hearty sound rang through the air. "A collar to match my leather perhaps?" He tapped the centre of his eye patch. It made a hollow sound. 

"Is that what you want?" She queried between tight lips and resisted the urge to shiver in her disgust. If he was trying to bait her, he would have to try harder.

Marco pouted and looked up at the ceiling. Evidently it was not the response he had wanted or expected. He tilted his head, returning his face to her. "I wouldn't be against it if you put it on... and I'd be more for it if you pulled me around by it." His left eyebrow quirked up.

Her eyelids lowered and she pierced him with a glare. His sense of humour was becoming more and more irritable to her as he continued his charade. How such a pirate managed to remain in employment vexed her. Doubts as to whether she could tolerate him for the length of their journey filled her mind. It would not get to her. He would not get to her.

“If that is part of the sum for your obedience, I suppose I could only oblige.” Her lips curled up into a smile. The image of this confident and all-assuming man listening to her every command pleased her. His mouth would be her biggest issue, it seemed.

She traced across his face with her gaze, searching to unveil something new. He entertained her request, albeit with it a sense of defiance and amusement. He had never ventured in his questions to ask whether it would be safe for her, permissable, an acceptable pastime for a royal. There was something she respected in his delicate skirting around the issue glaring at him in the form of a regal coat. This was no place for a prince. Yet she could not be sure if he avoided serious questions out of respect for her or the crown.

Marco returned her smile with a small wink. “Should I call you Master then?” His fingers scratched around his neck, making the very image of a collar. Even his fingers seemed to tease her. 

Her smile faded away almost immediately. “I have my titles and you shall use them.”

He bowed. “Prince.”

“Pirate,” she accused.

“I do believe your words were 'paid man.'” He took a quick sip from his stein, holding it aloft in the air as if in a show of strength. The beer’s froth caught in his beard. His other hand wiped it away. “What did you intend for payment?”

Mikasa delved into her coat pockets. Wary of her surroundings, she checked around her before pulling out a small, embroidered satchel of deep blue. Gold thread shone in the candlelight. With a deft hand, she jostled the satchel, its contents ringing in a brief song. She muttered just loud enough for him to hear, “I shall pay you gold for your ship, your crew, and our passage.”

Her words took him by surprise. “Our? You plan to come aboard, your highness?” The stein hit the table with a thud, punctuating the end of his words. He leaned forward again, tense, with his mouth hanging open. His lips moved to say more but no words came. He mouthed silently as if asking her to explain herself. His mask had fractured for a moment.

“Naturally.” She nodded and tucked the satchel away securely. She was confident no one had seen. While she doubted that anyone would dare to steal from her, she could not be certain. The royal guards did not know her location, nor had she let them follow her. Even with her training, there were only so many men she could fight off, and today she did not have her sword.

“It’s hardly natural for a royal to find themselves amongst dogs. Though I do suppose you are here.” Marco breathed in deeply. He finished the last of his stein after a flourish of his arms. 

Mikasa glanced down at her coat pocket and peered up at him, confused. “Don’t you wish to know the amount I wish to pay you? Do you not want to argue me for a better price?”

His hands rest atop the stein, fingers tapping in an unfamiliar rhythm. “Well, gold is important, yes, but you see, I have a greater price in mind.”

She avoided his eye. “Oh? I thought I made myself clear. I do not--”

His hands waved away her concerns. “Forgive me when I say that as lovely as you are…” He circled his hand in the air in her direction, eyes cast downward. “I would never ask you for something you weren’t willing to give.”

Her back straightened. She wasn’t sure what to say, but the words eventually came, awkward and slow. “So what is it that you are asking for?” 

Sincerely, without a hint of jest, he smiled and said simply, “Your smile, and, should I be so privileged, a kiss.”

Mikasa scoffed and bit her lip to prevent the smile from forming on her face. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe you have already seen me smile.”

“So, just the kiss, then.” He shrugged as if it were the most natural request. 

Her tongue clicked as she stared. Her words were lost to her, but her resolve returned when a stumbling man pushed by them. She gritted her teeth. “Is that a condition?”

Marco stroked his beard and smiled to himself. Despite his calculating, he still appeared warm and part of her hated him for that. “I’d like it to be.” The smile had reached his eye.

It was Mikasa’s turn to stroke her face. Trying to hide any hint of her anxiety, she kept moving her hands as if to show she felt fully in charge of herself. “I will pay you gold.” She nodded, more for her sake than his. “If you find what I’m looking for, and only if you find it, I will see that your special price is paid.”

Marco extended his hand. Scars in white covered the sun-damaged leathery skin. “It sounds like a reasonable arrangement.” He hesitated, withdrawing his hand slightly. “How do I know you will keep your word? I have no proof that I will receive this special price you promise.”

Mikasa closed her eyes and laughed to herself. She should have expected as much. She could feel that she would regret this later. It was something in the way he looked at her. As persistent as he was in toying with her, the determination he held looked promising. She could only hope she would find what she was looking for. “What would you have as proof?”  
He beckoned her forward with a finger and, after a sigh, she obliged, leaning across the table. “Yes?”

He moved quicker than she anticipated, and when she blinked, she found his lips against her cheek. While not soft -- rather wind-chapped from ocean seas and worn by summer suns -- his lips pressed gently against her. His beard tickled and scratched against her skin, but she did not recoil. Warmth spread through her cheeks and she was suddenly aware of how slowly she was breathing. 

“Consider that an example. A gift, if you will.” His breath smelled of ale, and his skin smelled of salt. When he was this close, all she could breathe was him. His left eye looked over her with concern, gaze dropping to her lips with wanting. “As proof, you can return it.”

Air forced itself out of her lungs and was drawn back in a moment later. Her sigh now was one of resignation, her eyes closing as if defeated. She leaned forward, breath stuttering and lips parted. It was awkward and fumbling at first, but her lips found his cheek. It was rough and warm to the touch, stubble grazing her lips as Mikasa imparted a kiss. She withdrew momentarily but remained close, her voice flat and accusative. “Consider it a deposit.”

“You must really wish to find this person,” Marco said with a hint of curiosity in his voice. His eye avoided hers, lingering on something in the distance. It darted back to her as he extended his hand again. There was no smile on his face now. 

Her hand reached out for his and they firmly shook hands. “It seems I do.” Only time would tell if she would regret their arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this and want to share it on Tumblr, you can find the Tumblr post [here]().
> 
> I would love to hear your feedback here or you can also find me on [Tumblr](http://foxberryblue.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/foxberryblue).


End file.
